


Because This Must Be

by Sparrow (hersilentlanguage)



Series: Love is a Cat From Hell [2]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: Angst, Carlos de Vil Needs a Hug, Carlos de Vil-centric, Gen, Isle of the Lost (Disney) is a Terrible Place, pre-romantic Jaylos fluff at the end, prequel to Rats des Villes, themes of child abuse (see notes inside)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hersilentlanguage/pseuds/Sparrow
Summary: Carlos let his senses drift, noting the subtle draft that tickled at his exposed skin, catching a bit of the argument that Horace and Jasper were having through the bathroom door, seeing the glittering eyes that watched him from behind his mother’s reflection on the window.He sat up straighter, staring hard at the window.“Stay,” his mother growled, pushing down on his head until he was forced into a slouch. “What are you looking at?” Her eyes flicked to the window, but there was nothing there. She frowned. “Answer me. Now.”“Nothing. Just the TV,” mumbled Carlos.Cruella acknowledged him with a grunt, but nothing further. He waited to feel the movement of her fingers in his hair become more languid before he dared to let his attention wander from her again.There was nothing at the window, though.Nothing but darkness behind his mother’s reflection.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Carlos de Vil (mentioned), Carlos de Vil & Cruella de Vil, Cruella de Vil & Jasper & Horace, Jay & Carlos de Vil (mentioned), Jay/Carlos de Vil (mentioned)
Series: Love is a Cat From Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605898
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	Because This Must Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel for _Rats des Villes_ , written to more fully contextualize the underlying plot; however, this piece _can_ be read as a stand-alone fic if you approach it as having an open ending.
> 
> **TW for non-graphic mentions of Cruella's desire to harm/kill an animal (no actual harm inflicted), and as mentioned in the tags, themes of child abuse (nothing sexual or particularly graphic, but there are multiple instances of verbal and emotional abuse, as well as minor blood mentions and wounds inflicted by scratching). Reader discretion advised.**

Carlos hated his mother’s fingers the most of anything about her.

She was corpse-like in every aspect, with a mouth that smelled like lung-rot, and her eyes sunk deep into the storm of her mind, and her skin too thin on her bones for a beating heart to not be heard outside her chest when she held him so close as now—

But no, _nothing_ was worse than her fingers.

Her fingers were long and bony, with prominent knuckles; they were tipped like claws in blood-shade red, and the years of smoking showed on her skin.

_Her fingers were dirty._

She stained what she touched, like her son’s white hair. She touched it until the colour of snow looked like someone had cleaned their boots in it, until it smelled like he’d bathed in her ashes _(and oh, wouldn’t he love to, some day? But not like this, no)_ —

HER FINGERS had been combing through his hair so long tonight that her hand was sweaty. She wouldn’t stop soon unless she felt like it. No point in squirming or asking her, _please,_ to just stop it.

There was no comfort in Cruella’s touch.

If he forgot himself and shuddered, she would dye his hair with bloodstains. He knew, because his skull was full of crescent marks. He knew, because she used to wedge her nails down in the sutures of his skull, and he was pretty sure from the feel of it now that things hadn’t fused quite right since then.

“Oh, Carlos,” purred his mother, tugging at his curls, “you’re just so quiet. So quiet tonight, I don’t like it.”

He tried to speak past the dryness in his throat. “Sorry, Mama,” he said hoarsely. “I just… thought we were watching this.” His fingers twitched toward the old television set, where a black-and-white version of a news broadcast had been looping for hours.

Cruella hummed, continuing to play with his hair. She didn’t look down to where he was sat on the floor in front of her while she sprawled across their ratty couch like it were a queen’s chaise longue.

He waited several minutes on any further reply, all the while watching her through the reflection that shone in the little window next to the television.

“Did you wash your face today?”

(Her fingers had trailed down as she said it, her nail-tips dragging gently across his cheekbone, leaving an itch there that he wouldn’t dare to scratch.)

“Yes,” he replied automatically, without emotion.

The couch creaked behind him as Cruella leaned out a little, regarding his face, and then making a noise of disgust as she settled back into her dusty red cushions. “Still there, though, the damned spots,” she muttered. “Use the bleach tomorrow.”

Carlos nodded slowly, feeling his gut twist as he agreed to it. He hoped she would just forget, that she wouldn’t wake up in enough of a mood to have someone “supervise” him in the bathroom.

 _“Spots…”_ (He could hear her, still muttering.) “Damned spots. Ugly, awful. _Mock me?_ No, no, no…”

He swallowed, trying not to make eye contact even as he felt his mother slowly tilting his head back, leveraging the grip she had on a clump of his hair.

“Mama,” he said softly, after several long seconds, still not meeting her eyes. “Mama, are you hungry yet? I could—”

 _“Quiet!”_ She cuffed the side of his head, then went back to stroking her fingers through his hair. “Quiet, quiet. They’ll hear us. They’ll hear us coming…”

Carlos said nothing, just waiting on her to explain (or not). She got into her head sometimes, and it was anyone’s guess when she would wander out from it.

 _Well,_ thought Carlos, _at least she’s not trying to_ —

“JASPER! JASPER, THE KNIFE! I’VE GOT ONE!”

There was a clatter from somewhere in another room, and then the sound of pounding footsteps.

Carlos didn’t know when his mother’s hands had wrapped around his throat, but it was all he could do to bite back a whimper as she started to squeeze.

(She _liked_ the whimpering. It only fed her delusions.)

“Ma’am?” said Horace, appearing in the doorway with flushed cheeks. He scratched at his neck, a little embarrassed, tossing a glance down the hall. “Just me, sorry. Right now, ol’ Jasper, he’s a little—”

“THE KNIFE.”

Horace straightened and nodded. “Yes, right away,” he called, disappearing and then reappearing in the space of only a moment. “Um—uh—what for?”

“Idiot! _The puppy,”_ hissed Cruella, her gaze flickering wildly about the room as Horace took in the scene for himself with a puzzled expression.

“A puppy? Where?” asked Horace.

Cruella made a feral noise, and Carlos flinched in her grasp. He waited breathlessly as something began to dawn on Horace’s face, causing the minion to jolt awkwardly and take a few steps back.

“Right, I’ll just—“ Horace gestured vaguely towards the kitchen, his eyes darting to Carlos as he said it. “Won’t be a sec, ma’am, won’t be a—”

“GO!” shrieked Cruella.

A wine glass shattered against the wall as Horace slipped from view with the gait of a skittish animal.

Carlos all but doubled over as soon as Cruella had released his neck to grab for the empty wine glass. He could see from her reflection in the window that she was staring off into space, her eyes locked on the spot where Horace had been standing.

The television set continued to loop the news.

Somewhere in the manor, Horace was making a purposeful racket in the kitchen, and Jasper could be heard yelling out to him through what must have been the bathroom door. He sounded muffled.

Carlos was trying to breathe as quietly as he could. Still, the slight whistling sound that rose out of his lungs with each inhale rang far too loud in his ears.

The couch springs squeaked ominously, and then—

Cruella’s fingers were back in her son’s hair, making knots of his curls as though nothing had happened. “Mommy’s _so_ tired of it all,” she sulked to him. “So tired. _Exhausted._ It’s aging her, isn’t it? Oh…”

Carlos hesitated a moment, not sure if he could trust his voice. “Are we going to bed?”

“Not yet, darling,” said Cruella, adopting a honeyed tone of voice that she would sometimes use mockingly when ranting about the Radcliffes (especially Anita). “Sit here with me a while, won’t you? I want to take in all the latest news from Auradon.”

“Okay,” said Carlos, sighing internally. His muscles were stiff as boards from the several hours that had passed since he’d been told to sit where he was. He was surprised she hadn’t ordered him to at least get her another glass of wine. Just _something_ to give him a reason to stretch his legs would be nice, he thought.

_“Hi! I’m Snow White, reporting live this afternoon from—”_

Carlos tuned out the television. He was going to lose it if he had to watch that segment run for maybe the 30th time tonight.

He let his senses drift, noting the subtle draft that tickled at his exposed skin, catching a bit of the argument that Horace and Jasper were having through the bathroom door, seeing the glittering eyes that watched him from behind his mother’s reflection on the window.

He sat up straighter, staring hard at the window.

“Stay,” his mother growled, pushing down on his head until he was forced into a slouch. “What are you looking at?” Her eyes flicked to the window, but there was nothing there. She frowned. “Answer me. Now.”

“Nothing. Just the TV,” mumbled Carlos.

Cruella acknowledged him with a grunt, but nothing further. He waited to feel the movement of her fingers in his hair become more languid before he dared to let his attention wander from her again.

There was nothing at the window, though.

Nothing but darkness behind his mother’s reflection.

He held in a sigh, letting his thoughts drift into quiet. He didn’t have the energy to sit there and lose himself in something imaginative. It was easier to just… exist.

A cat yowled faintly on the television.

The cry sounded achingly familiar, like Beelzebub used to sound when she wanted to be let inside and no one was answering her. Carlos almost hated to be reminded of that, since his cat had been missing for several months and he was sure she must be dead.

His eyes flicked back to the television and he frowned slightly. There was a baking commercial on. He’d seen it so many times over and hadn’t noticed any cats on set. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the yowling at all before now.

“Mama?” He bit his lip, trying to angle his head enough to look at her. He could see that her bloodshot eyes were slowly starting to droop. “Mama…”

She didn’t respond except to stare blearily at him.

“Can I, um, go outside?” asked Carlos, shifting slightly beneath the deadweight of her hand atop his head. “I won’t go far. It’d be just for a few minutes.”

“Why?” asked Cruella, still staring. “What’s outside?”

Carlos hesitated. “I think… my cat. Maybe.”

There a long silence, and then Cruella chuckled darkly, rolling her eyes at him like he was stupid. “You don’t have a cat,” she told him flatly.

He started to protest. “Bee could still be—”

 _“Dead,”_ said Cruella with a finality that chilled him. “She’s dead. I told you that, didn’t I?” Carlos nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor. He felt her fingers slide down to grasp his chin as she added in a low murmur, “Poor boy, to have such an interest in fantasies…”

There was another yowl from outside, and Cruella seemed aware of it this time, because her jaw tensed and her grasp on his chin became more severe.

Carlos started to say something, but Cruella only shook her head and made a shushing sound. “Ah, none of that, darling,” she told him. “None of that.”

“Mom,” Carlos tried again, his voice soft.

His mother smiled tightly. Her nails dug into his chin.

“JASPER!” she screeched without warning, triggering a clatter and crash in the kitchen. “VENEZ À MOI!”

A door slammed open down the hall, and Jasper could be heard yelling ahead of himself, “I’M COMING!” His feet slapped wetly against the old floorboards, and a few seconds later, he appeared in the doorway to the room with wet socks and a hand on his fly. “What’s goin’ on, Mizz? Your boy acting up again?”

Carlos caught a flash of Jasper’s crooked, orange-stained teeth from the corner of his eye. He curled his fists slightly, unable to risk glaring at the man with how his mother had twisted his neck towards her.

Cruella raised her free hand, and Carlos braced to be struck, only for his mother to wave dismissively at Jasper. “Go outside,” she ordered flatly. “See what’s out there and k—” She stopped herself. _“—kindly_ see that the yard arrangements are… in order.”

Jasper scratched beneath the rim of his hat, seeming a little confused by her instructions. “The yard, ma’am? But it’s black as pitch, how’d I even—”

“Bring. A. Torch,” Cruella interrupted, her teeth crunched together in annoyance so that the words came out gritty and a bit muffled.

Horace appeared quietly in the hall just behind Jasper, leaning up on his shoulder to whisper something. Jasper glanced irritatedly at him, but nodded.

“Right, yeah, I’ll bring a torch,” said Jasper to Cruella.

“Good,” she replied, assessing both her minions with a disparaging look. “Horace? Get the mop. Clean up whatever he’s done.” She gestured to Jasper, whose waterlogged socks were making a soft _squish_ sound whenever he shifted his weight to one side.

Carlos blinked in surprise at his mother’s orders.

Jasper’s face screwed up, more obviously taken aback. He reached to grab Horace by the shoulder, stopping him before he could leave for the broom closet. “Hang on, Mizz, you’re asking Horace? What about the runt? He’s done nothing all evening! You just keep him ‘round as a rug now?”

“Jasper,” Horace said lowly, elbowing his partner.

Cruella’s head rolled back with a laugh that silenced everything else in the room for several seconds. Even the television seemed to pause and flicker at the grating sound. Her laugh was _never_ pleasant.

Carlos gnawed at the inside of his cheek, not sure if he should say anything. His cat hated Jasper, and although he had never seen the man lay hands on her, he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t at least scare her off of the property for spite alone.

“I can do it,” said Carlos, barely above a whisper. He didn’t want to antagonize his mother, but he figured an overrun toilet was worth cleaning if it meant he could sneak out to check for Beelzebub, himself.

Cruella was quiet. “No,” she said finally, wrapping his curls so tightly around her fingers that his scalp flared with pain. “No, baby. You stay. Stay here.”

Jasper and Horace stood unmoving in the doorway until one sharp glance from Cruella sent them bolting to their tasks. The front door was slammed shut a moment later, rattling the walls of the manor, while from the opposite direction, Horace could be heard mumbling to the things in the broom closet as several objects banged around in protest of his clumsiness.

Carlos noticed the beam of a flashlight cutting past the window. He tried to look, to see _something_ that would prove it really was his cat out there—

“You need a bath,” said Cruella, interrupting Carlos’ thoughts. He felt her picking through his hair with a newly qualmish touch, and when he looked directly at her again, he saw that her nose was crinkled in distaste. “Fleas,” she snarled as she pinched a flake of ash from his scalp. “You have _fleas,_ mutt.”

Carlos shifted nervously under her scrutiny, remembering the last time she had become fixated on the idea he had fleas. He had been dumped into a scalding bath and made to sleep the night outside for a whole week lest the “fleas” infest her precious furs.

“I can wash my hair again,” he suggested meekly.

 _“Wasteful,”_ Cruella hissed. “Disgusting.”

And then, suddenly, she was crying.

She leaned forward to embrace him awkwardly, pulling his head into her lap with both arms, and half-draping her body over him so that he couldn’t see anything but darkness. “Baby, _baby,”_ she sobbed.

Carlos tried not to breathe. His mother’s fur-trimmed black robe and red nightdress were so pungent with the smell of smoke, they might well have been pulled from a house fire. The scent made him nauseous. It was _suffocating_ when she held him this close to her.

Outside, he thought he could hear Jasper cursing and yelling at something that was hissing and spitting right back at him. He couldn’t be sure, though—not with his mother making such a fuss in his ear, whispering all manner of affections that, somewhere in his heart, he still ached to believe could be genuine.

Carlos sighed a little, letting himself slump into his mother’s lap. He could feel the smoke creeping down into his lungs as a painful itch. He could feel her fingers lifting the hem of his shirt to cut red lines between the freckles on his lower back. He had scars from it, as long as he could remember—scars that looked like constellations, according to Jay.

 _“Name one constellation,”_ Carlos would tease him.

One night, when they had been sitting together in the treehouse with Carlos’ shirt rolled up for Jay to disinfect the newest scratches, it had been decided.

Jay was going to name each damn one.

He’d traced his finger over the healed white lines of an older wound, humming thoughtfully. _“Qawiun,”_ he had said. _“I’ll name this one Qawiun.”_

When Carlos had looked at him in confusion, Jay had explained that, while he wasn’t fluent in his father’s tongue, he was _pretty_ sure it meant “strong” in Arabic.

Carlos smiled a bit as he thought back on it, even as his mother’s rasping sobs grew wetter and the salt of her tears dribbled deep into his wounds.

He wondered what Jay would name these new scars.

_Maybe they could become something beautiful, too._

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in following the plot established here, this story continues with my multi-chap _Rats des Villes_ , which picks up shortly after the night depicted here. Cruella will feature periodically in RDV, but the main storyline will focus on Carlos and Jay, as well as the entire Core Four (starting at the point where Mal and Evie are introduced in Chapter 4).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Any kudos or comments would be wonderful, if you have a moment. I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3


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